Solace
by Azaisya
Summary: Confined to a hospital after the events at the 3rd Laboratory, Roy Mustang can't sleep. He finds Lieutenant Hawkeye in the hall and, dammit all, he told her to go home and get some rest.


**This takes place after the events at the 3rd Laboratory (Lust's death, Havoc's injury, Riza's breakdown, etc). I actually started it like a year ago and then I recently rewatched FMA and mAN I love these characters so so much.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of its characters or locations.**

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Roy knew he should be sleeping, but he'd always hated hospitals. They were sterile and quiet and coldly impersonal.

He didn't like being alone.

He didn't like being someplace unfamiliar.

With a sigh, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Off-white. Dry wall. Painfully plain.

In the next bed, Havoc snored quietly. Gritting his teeth, Mustang threw off his flimsy blanket and pushed himself to his feet.

His side protested loudly, but he just closed his eyes and focused on taking deep breaths (_in hold out in hold out in ho—_) until it went away.

The IV drip in his arm tugged lightly as he grabbed the IV stand and walked towards the door.

He needed—

He needed—

_Something. _

He was restless, and he couldn't stop thinking about the 3rd Laboratory.

_(Havoc's eyes wide with shock, his gun faltering)_

_(The feeling of flesh bubbling up and growing around his hand, dark hair materializing around a face only partially covered with skin)_

_(Fire in his hands and on his side and pain, so much pain, and—)_

_(—Riza)_

_(Riza, with death in her hands and in her eyes. Riza, with tears running down her cheeks and fingers trembling.)_

_(Riza, undone)_

Outside the hospital room, the halls were just as quiet. The lights were dim, and he could hear nothing but the hum of machines and the distant sounds of human movement.

A spot of blonde drew his eye, and he automatically turned towards it.

His mouth settled into a hard line.

_He'd told her to go home. _

But here Riza was, lying on her side on a hospital bench. She was still in uniform.

Roy looked around casually, eyes raking over the ceiling and the walls. There was only one camera he could see, but Riza's position was shielded by a fortuitously placed flower pot.

Casually, Roy walked out of sight of the camera and gently shifted Riza so that there was room for him to sit.

She didn't stir.

_She must be tired. _

As he sat, she automatically shifted closer, slinging one arm around his waist and curling towards him. Taking care not to disrupt her, he reached out and extracted her hair clip. She murmured something under her breath, and he couldn't help smiling.

He'd always thought that she looked gentle when she slept.

Harmless.

Now though, there was something tense about the set of her shoulders and the way her fingers curled around the edge of his hospital shirt.

He checked the hallway, but there was still nobody else there.

Finally deflating, Roy ran his fingers through her hair, gently smoothing the locks out of their bun. The line between her brows vanished, and Roy's smile grew gentle and genuine.

He leaned against the wall and continued stroking her hair, grounding himself in the familiar motion.

Her hair was thinner than his, but it was also softer. He could remember curling up with her on the couch after he'd finished his studying and she'd finished her homework and they'd both done their chores. She would read aloud whatever book she'd borrowed from the library, and he would sit next to her and run his fingers through her hair.

The tension in his chest—the coiled knot of stress that he hadn't even known was there—slowly loosened.

Two brown eyes, hazy with sleep but quickly sharpening, snapped him out of his memories. "Colonel?"

Roy smiled at her. It wasn't the lazy, self-assured smirk that he so frequently used. It was softer, gentler, more tender—and just for her. "1st Lieutenant."

Riza blinked once, twice. "Colonel!" She snatched her arm back and sat up, nearly knocking over his IV stand in her haste. "You shouldn't be up. You should—" She stopped, eyes narrowing. "Why are you up?"

"Why aren't you at home?" he countered, dropping his hands uselessly into his lap.

Riza had the grace to look chastised, but she didn't offer an apology, merely staring defiantly at him.

Roy sighed and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even more than it already was. "You'll wrinkle your uniform."

She shrugged one shoulder. Roy's brow furrowed, and he held her clip out to her. She took it, smiling briefly in thanks. Their fingers brushed, and he tried to ignore the way his heart yearned to take her hand in his and press her fingers to his lips.

"You look terrible," he told her, without bite.

She deftly twisted her hair back into place. "With all due respect, sir, so do you."

Roy let out a humorless laugh. "I do, don't I?"

Riza looked around, tracing the same route that he had and coming to the same conclusion; they were completely and utterly alone. Her expression crumpled, just slightly.

Roy held out his arms.

"Sir—"

"Riza," he replied, voice quiet.

"Colonel—"

"_Riza_," he repeated, more insistently.

He could see the moment she caved; her entire body seemed to wilt—shoulders dropping, head lowering, eyes closing—and her mask slipped away. She was careful, as always, to avoid causing him pain. She merely slipped herself into the empty space at his uninjured side, slotting against him and pressing her face into the hollow between his neck and his shoulder.

Roy wrapped an arm around her shoulders, held her tight against him, and breathed.

"Roy, I—"

"Don't," he suggested.

Her sigh ghosted against his skin, and gooseflesh flashed down his back. "But—"

"Shhh," he said, firmly.

The night crawled on, and outside the air simmered towards deathly cold. Here, within the hospital, silence reigned. Roy's entire being focused upon the woman beside him.

He couldn't help remembering the death in her eyes.

He'd seen it before, in his Master's home, in the eyes of a girl without the will to fight to survive.

He'd seen it before, in the sands of Ishval, in the eyes of a soldier disillusioned with war and with life.

He'd seen it now, in the 3rd Laboratory, in the eyes of a woman who'd thought him dead.

"Riza—"

A sigh shaped like a laugh bubbled, half-sparked by nervousness, from Riza's chest. "I thought you wanted me to be quiet?"

"Riza," Roy repeated, dropping his arm to her waist and tangling his fingers with hers, "You understand that you can't give up."

She drew away far enough to look him in the eye. "You've already said—"

"I know."

The silence thickened, and he couldn't tear his eyes from her face. Exhaustion darkened the skin beneath her eyes, and he knew that had far more to do with his near-death experience than her own uncomfortable sleep.

Without his knowledge, his thumb found itself on her cheek, his fingers brushing lightly through her bangs. Her breath caught. His hand twitched, thumb barely passing over the corner of her lips, before dropping into his lap.

_I can't do this without you_, his eyes said.

_I know,_ said hers, _Me neither._

"Never again," he said, aloud.

Riza merely nodded, head dropping back against the crook of his neck.

She was warm.

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